View from a Prairie Home

By Hege Herfindahl, Columnist

I grew up in a family with multiple problems. My sister had learning difficulties and struggled with social issues due to a low self-esteem. My father worked for Norway’s second largest shipping firm and travelled constantly. My mother, with her Ph.D. in Applied Economics, had to stay at home with us due to my father’s career. She was not a typical housewife since she would rather be working. My brother was nine years younger than me and had a vivid imagination which sent his mind to make-believe places. We had to leave chairs at the table for his (to us) invisible friends.  He would become agitated and have fights with these friends. So, as the eldest, I became the peace-maker of the family. I did this mainly by trying to make everybody laugh.

I brought my skills as a clown to my peers too. They didn’t like to hear about my family life. If I wanted to make friends, I had to be funny. Who wants to listen to sad stories of siblings and parents who have problems?  I would be lively and make people laugh. School wasn’t difficult for me, so I was bored. Here too, being funny was my way out. And I found myself popular. I was invited to parties and was always in the midst of a circle of teenagers. 

Of course, I grew up, moved away and had my own family. Grant changed me. He loved me and I didn’t have to think of a way to lessen the tension in the room by making people laugh. And as an adult, I also wasn’t constantly in the midst of a group of peers. Making people laugh is hard work. But, laughing is contagious. It not only lessens tensions, it makes people forget about their troubles and for a moment just relax into laughter. 

When my children were small, they made us laugh with their joy of living and also with their innocent ways of interacting with the world. Our eldest, Reuben, born in Norway, and fluent in two languages at the age of two, would sometimes explain a word he had learned in English in his mother-tongue. Motorcycle was “Må ikke sykle” (must not bike); his interpretation of the fast motorcycles that would overtake our old family car. The name of our family friend Mildred, who was very overweight, was interpreted as “mindre enn” (smaller than). He also had (and still has) a very strong moral compass. When he was four, he and his younger sister, Ingvild, were playing with blocks upstairs while I was trying to make supper. Reuben came down and told me Ingvild was trying to put blocks down the register. After he told me this twice, I came up, only to discover it was Reuben who was the culprit. He had to tell me, but couldn’t quite confess. I like to think that my children grew up in a home filled with laughter. 

I recently learned that May 1st is National Laughter Day. I applaud that. We have multiple designated days. Arbor Day, Earth Day, Take your Kid to Work Day; to name a few. But to assign a day to laughter after two+ years of COVID is like sunshine after days of darkness. According to the Mayo Clinic, laughter has both long-term and short-term benefits. It relieves pain and stress, boosts our immune system and increases oxygen flow to the body. It certainly improves our mood. And if we laugh more, we are more satisfied with life and thus live longer. 

We had eight grandchildren in five years. As babies and toddlers they made us laugh. Now they are all teenagers. Teenagers aren’t as cute as toddlers, but they still cause me to smile. At Easter, six of them were together at Ingvild’s house. First, they found a board game where you conquer the world. Then, they decided to go to the movies together. They piled into Ingvild’s van and off they went. Later, they came into the house laughing. My heart flipped with joy. These kids have suffered. Some of them have lost their dad. One of them lost a friend to suicide. All of them have lost two years of in-person school. Yet, in the spring sunshine, they laughed together. And I joined them. Laughing feels so good.